


Life and Possibility

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: Golden Chains From Star to Star [3]
Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Adam-Centric, Descriptions of a Panic Attack, Full of my headcanons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is losing his mind staying at home all day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life and Possibility

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a totally self-indulgent Adam-centric fic revolving around one of my major headcanons about these two.

Adam tosses the ball above him, lets it drop into his grip again; he repeats the process for what feels like forever. He’s bored out of his god damn mind. Lawrence is at work—has been since six this morning, as usual, and Adam has the apartment to himself until at least six o’clock tonight. It’s like this damn near every day, aside from the few times that Lawrence has a day off. Lawrence goes to work, Adam holds down the fort and contemplates whether he’s losing his mind or not.

It’s dull, so _fucking_ dull.

Adam lets the ball hit his chest rather than catch it; he rolls to his side and stares at his camera that sits on the coffee table. Since leaving the warehouse, the camera has gone mostly untouched. If anything, Lawrence has had his hands on it more than Adam in the past year. Lawrence has moved it about the apartment, sometimes trying to get Adam’s attention and other times tucking it away to spare him the pain.

Adam hates the camera as much as he misses it. It represents just another failure in his life. He had wanted to be a vet, but that fell through like the pipedream it was. Hell, he’d never even finished high school. He’d stolen the camera from his dickhole roommate at the time and he’d used it to make money off other people’s privacy.

 _Fuck_ , he didn’t even survive his own Jigsaw game. He failed and Lawrence had to come back and rescue him.

He was a failure in his own right and every right.

Adam sits up and looks away from the camera. Even the slightest flickering light bulb or distant flash of a camera on the streets triggers him. The camera flashes take him back to his shithole apartment, to Pighead lunging out of the closet at him. Flickering lights take him back to the bathroom. Adam doesn’t pretend to understand the science of his brain; he only knows that far too many things scare him and that he doesn’t know how to overcome all of them.

Lawrence tells him constantly that he’s come a long way, which Adam supposes is at least partially true. He no longer needs to be sedated to take a bath or shower. He can close the door to bathroom without feeling like he’s going to suffocate. He can watch TV and see all the stories about the other survivors and not relive his own heinous game. There’s a lot that used to scare Adam that doesn’t anymore.

And yet it seems for every fear he’s overcome, two more grow stronger in its place.

Adam shrugs off his clothes and leaves them in a trail as he stalks to the bathroom. He kicks on the shower, pushing the water to the highest heat. Cold water is one of the things that still takes him back, so he sticks to painfully hot showers or baths. He needs the kind where steam rises up and fills the room and closes around him like a security blanket.

He showers without washing. Instead he reads the various things written in condensation on the shower walls. The glass is perfect for leaving messages in the steam heat. Adam eyes one spot in particular—it’s his handprint beside Lawrence’s. Their hands are close to identical, though Lawrence’s fingers are thicker and Adam’s hands more slender. A blush works its way across Adam’s body and he pretends it from the heat of the water.

He turns to another wall of the shower.

_Good morning, I love you_

Adam rolls his eyes. He isn’t quite sure how Lawrence was able to walk away so easily. Adam has never been wooed, never been taken care of before, really. He’s never been the one receiving flowers or being taken out. It’s always been him, and even then he sucked at it. He’d buy flowers for girlfriends and forget to deliver them because of a job. He’d tried to take out his last girlfriend to a real nice place but had gotten mugged along the way—she hadn’t believed him, even though he had the shiner to prove it.

Romance was something else Adam had always failed at. It never mattered before because no one he dated ever cared. The girls he dated didn’t care about romance, really. They knew Adam wasn’t “the one” for them. Adam knew it too. He knew these girls were just passing the time with him and that was okay because so was he.

Adam reaches out and writes with his left index finger, _I love you too_. He smiles and turns away. Embarrassment burns inside him—again, with the whole not good at romance thing—but he refuses to let himself erase it. Instead, Adam turns his attention to actually showering.

)

Lawrence comes home to smell of _food_. His stomach growls immediately, louder than it had been on the drive home. He’s a few minutes later than anticipated but he had managed to take care of enough paperwork to take tomorrow off. To get everything done, Lawrence had to skip lunch.

“Adam, did you call in?”  Lawrence asks as he hangs his coat on the rack and loosens his tie. He breathes a sweet sigh of relief and walks towards the kitchen. Adam doesn’t answer, but as Lawrence gets closer he can hear the sizzling pops of food cooking and a faint voice describing what to do next.

Lawrence pops his head around the corner and watches as Adam carefully follows the instructions blaring from his smart phone. The food smells delightful, and Lawrence grins. He waits, but Adam is so engrossed in the process he doesn’t seem to even realize the doctor is home. Lawrence takes his opportunity to creep up behind Adam—though his cane clicks on the floor rather loudly—and wrap an arm around his waist.

Adam doesn’t startle at all which tells Lawrence he knew all along. Adam looks over and grins. “Hey.”

Lawrence kisses Adam firmly before greeting him. “Well hello,” Lawrence gestures to the pants on the stovetop. “What’s all this?”

“I’m going to start a food blog.” Adam declares with excitement vivid in his eyes. Lawrence shoots him a look of surprise. “I was thinking about it, I’m at home all day doing nothing and I figured, why not? I’ll start a blog. I’ll take pictures of foods and make recipes and post them online. Sure I probably won’t get famous but I’ll be doing _something_.”

Lawrence backs away at Adam’s insistence. “That’s sudden.”

Adam shrugs. “I need to do something or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Lawrence grins and quickly presses another kiss to the side of Adam’s neck. “Do I have time to clean up before dinner?”

Adam nods quickly and leans back for a final kiss. “It should be done by the time you’re out.” Lawrence nods in acknowledgement before moving to the bathroom.

)

Dinner goes smoothly, to both men’s surprise. The food is good, perhaps not restaurant quality but it’s certainly something Lawrence could eat most nights. They collapse onto the couch together and turn on the TV for mindless entertainment. After dinner has settled and the TV grows boring, Adam makes a distressed noise.

“What is it?’ Lawrence asks, sleepy and slurred and still pleasantly full.

“I hate cooking.” Adam admits.

“That’s a bit of a problem if you plan to start a food blog.”

Adam nods. “I’m so stupid, I thought I could do it but cooking is too fucking stressful and it takes too damn long.”

Lawrence laughs kindly. “Then don’t do it.”

Adam turns where his sits so that he and Lawrence are pressed chest to chest on the couch. “I need to do something or I’m gonna lose my god damn mind.”

Lawrence is startled by the anger in Adam’s tone. “Okay.”

“I’m seriously going to lose my fucking mind if I don’t do _something._ I can’t sit at home anymore. I can’t. I can’t spend every fucking day, all day long, doing jackshit.”

Lawrence is taken aback. “Adam, I..” The doctor is at a loss for words.

Adam groans. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine! I thought I could just stay home, keep the place kinda clean, not have a job and be fine. But I can’t, I really just fucking can’t. I’m gonna go berserk if I keep doing this day in and day out.”

Lawrence nods and wraps his arms around Adam, who relaxes into the touch. “What do you want to do?”

Adam collapses and buries his face into Lawrence’s chest. His words are muffled. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to stick with photography?”

Adam shrugs.

“You could go back to school.”

Adam shakes his head. “I can’t do that. It’d be humiliating.”

Lawrence doesn’t push. “You don’t need a job; you don’t need to bring home money or anything.” Lawrence shushes Adam. “But, you could still get out of the house. Maybe walk to the park and take pictures along the way.” Lawrence plays with strands of Adam’s hair as he speaks. “You could do that—what’s it called? Humans of New York?”

Adam perks up a bit.

“One of the nurses is always showing off the pictures and stories and gushing about them. You could do something like that.” Lawrence shrugs softly. “You could do whatever you want.” He presses a kiss to the crown of Adam’s head. “We can get you a new camera if you want.”

Adam stiffens. Part of his thinks _yes_ that’s exactly what he needs—get rid of the camera and get rid of every foul memory attached to it. But another part of him feels too strongly connected to the camera, all they’ve been through together. Lawrence doesn’t speak and only presses his fingertips along Adam’s skin; he waits for an answer patiently, unhurried.

Adam eventually shakes his head. “No. I want to keep the camera. For now, at least.” Both men’s eyes travel to where said camera sits.

Lawrence nods, “okay.”

)

It takes a few weeks to get all the proper ducks in a row—Adam finally converts the spare room into a darkroom, he gets loads of film for his camera and ignores the looks his gets from all the kids with their digital cameras, he finally lets Lawrence prescribe him an anti-anxiety medication to make going outside easier. It also helps with the fears, fear of the flashing and clicking and what might be hiding on the other side of the lens.

For a while, Adam stays within the confines of the apartment building. He takes pictures of peeling paint and of greeting mats in front of doors; he takes pictures of every inch of their apartment until the flash and click no longer make him jump or make his blood ice cold. He practices taming his fear and he brushes up on his skills—angles, white balance, aperture, focus, all of it. Adam relearns his camera and after a few weeks he loathes putting it down.

Adam takes pictures of Lawrence eating dinner, sleeping, watching TV, showering. Adam tried to snap shots while Lawrence went down on him—it had been the doctor’s idea even—but Adam couldn’t operate the camera and get head at the same time. He sits on their balcony outside and takes pictures of the sky, people walking on the sidewalk; he even snaps some photos of a minor crash that happens in front of their building.

Eventually, he ventures out. He walks Lawrence to the bus stop one day, kisses him goodbye, and starts off in the other direction with a firm grip on his camera. He takes pictures of everything he sees: a dog pissing on a bush, a man storming out of his brownstone while he screams at his wife, a young kid playing hopscotch alone. The camera _clicks_ , and _clicks_ , and _clicks_.

After barely two hours he has to pop in a new roll of film but Adam doesn’t mind. He feels alive, he feels something sparking inside him, a passion igniting. He can’t stop smiling even though by the time a fifth hour has passed his face is burning from the strain. His legs are shaking, too. Adam hasn’t stopped to sit once, only to kneel for a better angle, only stopping to stand for better focus.

He’s not even particularly concerned with the quality of the photos, he just knows he needs to _click, click, click_.

When Adam reaches the nearby park, he finally sits. He finds a bench in the center of the park and continues to photograph. He stops for a few minutes to down a full bottle of water and a few granola bars.

After his legs no longer quake with the stress of walking, Adam walks laps around the park. He snaps shots of spiders dangling from branches and birds fluttering away from a tree. Eventually, he notices that every person he passes is dressed rather well—much nicer than his jeans and t-shirt. It takes him a few minutes of seeing person after person to realize where he’s wandered.

The music plays softly and people are dancing. Immediately, Adam feels embarrassed for stumbling upon a wedding. Granted, it’s in a grassy offshoot of the park so it’s not necessarily a private wedding, but still. Adam was never meant to be here. Despite that he still takes pictures. He captures stills of the bride and groom twirling together, of the mother and father of the bride crying silently in a corner of the marquee.

Adam continues to take photos until he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He’s never been so thankful for the camera strap; otherwise his work for the day would’ve been in pieces on the ground. He startles with a yelp and whips around to face the person attached to the hand. It’s a young man, probably no older than Adam himself, smiling sheepishly.

“Hey dude.”

Adam stares back with wide, terrified eyes. In all honesty, this is the first real contact he’s had with someone outside of phone calls and silent trips to the market down the street. Adam can feel his heart beating fast, too fucking fast. His hands are shaking where they’re folded defensively across his chest. Adam can’t find the words to reply even so much as a ‘hey’ in return.

The man raises his hand peacefully. “Hey, dude, it’s okay. I just wanted to tell you, you don’t have to hide over here. It’s not a private wedding. My brother won’t mind.”

Adam swallows, his mouth and throat suddenly as dry as the desert. He tries to nod but can’t get his body to work, it won’t respond to his commands. He’s panicking and his vision is getting hazy.

The hands are on his shoulders again and the man is speaking slowly and calmly. “It’s okay, hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Adam tries to focus on the man. “Breathe with me, dude, okay? In,” the man pauses to inhale, “out,” and again to exhale. He continues, all the while keeping his eyes locked onto Adam’s. Adam focuses on syncing their breathing and eventually he can feel the tips of his fingers and the darkness closing in backs away.

Adam can breathe on his own after a few minutes. It’s only after his mind stops swimming that he realizes he started crying during the ordeal.

The man smiles at him, still sheepish. “’There ya go, there you are. It’s okay.” The man backs away and Adam feels a weight come off his chest. “You wanna join us?” The man gestures to the party at hand, and Adam is thankful that no one else was privy to his moment of panic. “C’mon man, we got food, drinks. You can keep taking pictures n whatever.”

Adam finally finds his voice. “Sure.” He says, though he’d been fairly intent on declining and instead rushing back home.

The young man leads him into the gentle fray of the wedding reception, and Adam feels like the sorest thumb imaginable. Everyone around him is in at least slacks and a dress shirt, if not a full on suit-and-tie garb. In his ratty Misfits shirt and blue jeans, Adam feels himself blushing. Despite this, though, he does lift the camera again and start taking photos.

He learns that the young man who helped him is named James, and he’s the brother of the groom, Joseph. (With a round of laughter, both brothers explain their family’s obsession with ‘J’ names, and Adam finds himself enamored with the family.) Adam is introduced to the bride, a lovely red head named Elizabeth.

Adam knows he probably won’t ever see these people again and yet he finds himself soaking up every aspect of them. He relishes taking pictures of them, even taking pictures of the half eaten cake. Even though they have a hired photographer who is surely a fuck of a lot better than Adam, many of the guests pile around Adam for photos. Adam takes plenty of candid’s, blurry motion shots, things that are fun but far from professional.

He attempts to shoot the professional photographer an apologetic look, but he’s waved off with a smile.

By the time the festivities wind down, Adam feels pleasantly drunk and full on cake and hors d’oeuvres. He shakes hands with all the guests and the leaves his name and number for the bride and groom with the promise of copies of photos for them.

Adam stumbles away from the music with a grin firmly stuck in place. He’s more exhausted than he’s been in years, but it’s a wonderful feeling. His legs are burning from exertion; his whole body is tired from the half-hearted dancing. He finally winds up back home and he’s still stuck back at the wedding when he opens the door to his and Lawrence’s apartment.

Speaking of, Lawrence sits on the couch feigning nonchalance. Lawrence’s jaw is firmly set and his brow is drawn together angrily. He’s got a book in his hands but he’s not reading a single word, hasn’t been for the hour and a half he’s been waiting for Adam.

At the sight of his boyfriend on the couch, Adam is brought quickly and harshly back to reality. Adam rushes to the couch, his camera bouncing on his chest. “Fuck, Lawrence, I’m sorry. Shit.” Adam takes off the camera as quickly but gently as he can, and sets it on the coffee table. He then goes for his phone that has sat silent in his pocket all day, and dreads what he sees.

_Four missed calls. Seven texts. Two voicemails._

Adam groan. “I’m so sorry, fuck. I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t realize it was on silent.” Adam takes the book from Lawrence’s hands so the doctor will finally look at him. “Dude, come on, look at me. I’m sorry, okay? I got wrapped up in it, I got invited to a wedding and just got sucked in.” Adam pleads. He runs a hand through his hair and his leg begins to bounce nervously.

Lawrence still won’t speak though his stony expression softens a bit.

“I got through a panic attack,” Adam admits as a last resort. It sparks a swell of pride inside, given that any of the past attacks have landed him in the hospital or at least completely incapacitated. “I mean, one of the guys from the wedding helped, but I got through it. I didn’t pass out.” He adds softly.

Lawrence finally turns to Adam and speaks. His voice and face are genuine; he gathers Adam in his arms as he talks. “That’s great, Adam. That’s amazing.” Lawrence kisses the side of Adam’s head. “I’m proud of you.”

Adam sighs in relief. He clings to Lawrence in return and relishes the embrace.

“Did you get some good photos?” Lawrence asks, pulling back. He stares at Adam like a starving man stares at a buffet. It’s a hungry stare, but not a sexual stare—more desperate, delighted.

“Yeah, I think so. I didn’t really think about it, I just.. Clicked.” He laughs a bit nervously. “I guess we’ll see how good they are once they develop.”

Lawrence nods; his hands are still roaming over Adam’s neck and shoulders as though he might vanish at any moment. “I was worried.”

“I know.” Adam closes his eyes in an attempt to block out his guilt. “I’m, fuck, I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

“It’s okay.” Lawrence finally smiles. “As long as you’re happy, then it’s okay.”

Adam smiles back, a small and delicate smile.

)

It takes time for all the photos to develop—Adam had gone kind of overboard—but when they come through Adam falls in love with each shot. They aren’t all great, most of them are pretty bad actually. But the ones that are good are the ones that make Adam’s chest swell with pride. The ones that are traditionally good, crisp and clear shots with vivid colors and fluid movement strike a sense of accomplishment. The ones that are less traditional, and more artistic, are the ones that intrigue and delight Adam the most. These photos are the ones with blur to them, with a mess of colors and movement, but they still tell a story.

Adam spends nearly a full day in the dark room, pouring over the photos and evaluating what he loves and hates about each and every shot. As he obsesses, he tries to put a name to his style, to the balance of chaos and pose.

Eventually, towards the end of the evening, Adam stumbles out of the room. He finds Lawrence reading in bed, as usual. Throwing open the bedroom door, Adam announces,

“I want to be a wedding photographer.”

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, I love the idea of Adam being a wedding photographer.


End file.
